Just Another Fairy Tale
by wretchedheartbreak
Summary: Hungary is sick of all those cliched fairy tales, especially after having seen Rapunzel. She loathes how girls are portrayed in such a sexist manner, and goes on a little rant. Little does she know, she's about to have an unexpected visitor. AU.
1. Chapter 1

No. _No. _Convert her into a Jew and ship off her off to Germany. Dress her up in skimpy clothes and make her parade around the castle and act as the poster girl. Make her masquerade as Archduke Ferdinand of Austria and send her stupidly into enemy territory with no guards or escorts. Hell, make her swim across the English Channel and back without any rest. _Anything _but that most daft display of sexism and womanhood and stereotype and whatever else that could be used to describe what she was watching on TV.

Lord only knew how she got reception up there, but right now, she was too focused on the absurd display in front of her to give that another thought.

Sitting on a wooden rocking chair in a circular room, the picture of a frozen woman was depicted; it would have even been a statue was it not for the light breathing that one could hear if one listened carefully enough. Not only that, if one looked closely enough, one could see the slight twitch in her emerald eyes, spazzing in time with the cheesy music that played from the box in front of her. Mouth agape, no sense of decorum, she continued to watch the animated cartoon in front of her with the strangest, strongest urge of getting up, punching said screen, then returning to her chair to knit or whatever other else women were _supposed_ to do. Well really, she would have already done that was it not for the fact that this was the only real source of entertainment she was going to get until her oh-so-_beloved _mother came back from picking berries and some other natural… stuff. The woman had promised her return after two hours, but hell, it was already four hours, the sun was setting, the birds were sleeping, and all those other fairy tale nonsense that, if one really thought about it, was impossible.

She huffed. _Ridiculous_.

The show was called Rapunzel. Apparently, it was about this princess who was borne to two parents who desperately wanted a child. For some reason, the wife craved a Rapunzel plant that their next door neighbour, an enchantress, had, and her husband (bless his poor, defective, gullible soul) stole some for her, but was eventually caught on the third night of his attempted thefts. Of course, the couple had then to give up their only child as compensation, and the sorrow ensued. This child was then named Rapunzel after the plant, and was shut up inside a tall tower with no door, the only means of entrance and exit through the solitary window. Her "mother", the enchantress, would come in and out of the place through her long, fair hair that had never been cut, which was long enough to reach all fifty or so feet of the tower. On the other hand, she was never allowed to leave, and in all her misery, some German writer had taken pity on her and allowed a prince to come by and fall in love with her, marry her, and together they plotted her escape. Of course, they're later caught by the enchantress (oh, how cliché, the bad guy clique), but in the end, they won, were reunited and got married.

Need she reiterate? _Ridiculous_.

Throwing her pen at the television that was blaring the song called the "Healing Song" (how the hell they came up with _that _original name, she didn't know), Hungary shut off the television grandly, a well-practiced aim in her grasp. She reached out beside her table for a comb, closing her eyes and frowning in pure irritation at the stupidly cliché scene she had just witnessed. There were just so many things wrong with that movie, it was… _ridiculous._

First off, who the hell had ever heard of an _enchantress_? Witches and shit, didn't they burn like, a long time ago in France or something, together with someone named Jeanne…? Or Joanne… Or, whatever, and they later learned they were persecuting normal humans. It was hilarious, sarcastically so, but no one else seemed to see the humour in the situation, but really, to each their own.

Second, a tower, really? With no doors? Fuck, then how the hell did they even build the damn thing and decorated the interior without a door? What, did they build from the top up or something? Oh, oh, but then again, if they enlisted the help of the _enchantress_, then yeah, maybe that was possible.

Tres, what kind of woman had that long a hair! She clenched her teeth in irritation as she combed her sixty-feet length hair, mulling over the movie. Honestly, blonde _and _beautiful? If there was anything more cliché, it could bite her butt and swim across the Pacific Ocean for all she cared, because nothing, _nothing _was more cliché than that. No resemblance to her own ridiculously long, hazel hair. None at all. It was, after all, only cliché when it was _blonde_.

Cuatro, how randomly lucky could you get with a handsome prince? What, did he just _happen _to stroll along one day from his blissfully wealthy family, got lost in the woods and saw said gigantic tower, and thought to himself "Oh, maybe there's a fair maiden up in the tower of whom I will fall in love at first sight and marry! There's nothing mysterious about her being up there in the first place. Not at all!" and proceeded to act all Superman on her and sweep her off her feet, all white knight in shining armor-like. Well, fuck it, she was stupid in the brain, and he was psychologically unstable in the head to fall in love with her at first sight, so maybe they did make the perfect couple. It was sick, but cute. A sick, cute couple.

Finally, a happily ever ending? Honestly, just how much more of this nonsense would they air! If it was even remotely possible to have a happily ever after forever, then the world would be full of smiling couples being all lovey-dovey over ice cream and whatnot. In her opinion, that was disgusting, but that was beside the point.

Her ramblings were interrupted when she came across a twisted knot in her hair about a half of the way down. Crying outright in frustration, she did not appreciate being cut off from her thoughts. Despite this, her expertly skilled fingers twirled through the obnoxious little thing, splitting the hairs evenly so she could resume her combing. Hungary sighed contentedly after doing so, thoughts of the heinous television show fading from her thoughts.

Honestly though, what the hell were they teaching kids these days? That princesses existed in some faraway lands just waiting in and out for their beloved prince to come? That princesses had all these beautiful things that could fulfill their hearts' desires, but did not because, of well, the former? That princesses always had some sort of unfortunate circumstance which they would be delivered from by, again, the former? Hungary scoffed in pure spite. Yeah, hell, she was a princess, but not even. Her mother, the queen, told her explicitly that she was an illegitimate child after she got far too drunk on Fiore's wine and whatever other bastardized drinks they served. Of course, with her reputation at stake and all that, Hungary was immediately disowned and sent to live with her mother's cousin twice removed. Now, this cousin of hers was bat-shit crazy, that much she could say. The woman _lived _for nature, always had that sneering look on her face, and absolutely had the _best _taste in architecture. How could she say that? Case in point: the tower. Once the official papers of adoption had been signed, she was whisked away into some ridiculously lengthy tower with no way in or out except through a window (no, not like Rapunzel at all, she thought bitterly to herself; no way was she associating herself with that happy-go-lucky-bitch). Ever since then, she'd been stuck in her, with only the crazy grandmother delivering her food every now and again.

Oh, a perfect fairy tale, if she ever saw one.

Truthfully though, she had nothing against fairy tales. It was just their sexist categories that irked her more than anything. Hungary always thought that girls liking pink and flowers and swooning over handsome princes was absolutely _ridiculous _(this was turning into her favourite word, really), and very stereotypical. She, on the other hand, would not be afraid to admit that she liked watching bloody or gory movies, with hints of psychological trauma in them, and she absolutely loved the colour black. And she, absolutely, _would not _fall in love at first sight. What was with that crap?

Hungary shook her head free of the thoughts, sighing resignedly. What was the point of ranting on and on like that? It wasn't going to change anything, and the world would remain as perverted as always. Fairy tales would continue without a hint of truth in them, but she couldn't very well go around murdering every single writer, could she?

Hey, well, that wasn't a bad thought now, was it?

On second thought, she could do that… if it wasn't for the fact that she was – had she pointed it out? – stuck in this _damn _tower with no way out and a very estranged grandmother to face if she even attempted to do so.

Life sucked.

Still, if she faced it honestly, there was one huge thing that irked her about that movie. Not only was it drastically cliché, it was also a damn _musical_. Seriously, who ever heard of someone breaking out into song out of sheer happiness, and then, moments later, magical flying mint bunnies would appear and everyone around her would _also _burst into song like it was the most normal thing that could possibly happen? Answer? No one. Only in these stupid fairy tales did that happen, and someone smack her dead before she'd do that, too.

It wasn't because she had a horrible voice. Because she didn't. Just ask the canary out her window. She just didn't… _want _to.

Stealing a glance at the clock, Hungary sighed as she noticed that it was quarter to eight. AM. Really, now all she needed was to cue the music and start into song about how she would entertain herself with books (or two) or paint a canvas (or two), whilst tiny little woodland creatures would come swarming in and help her clean up. She'd rather be shot.

She picked up the broom that lay nearby, and set to work on cleaning the impossibly small space. It was decorated sparsely, as though the homeowner was both tasteless and poor – which, she knew from experience, was both. It had a homey feeling to it, where everything was constructed from old-fashioned wood. A cabinet was adorned with paintings of various creatures, set aside next to a bookshelf that house about thirty books, give or take. Lord, would it kill the woman to buy more books? She'd read every goddamn book here about fifty times over, including the prologues and forewords, mind you, and she'd almost had the _Mein Kampf _memorized. Across from that was a typical set of a chair and desk. In the dead smack of the room was a circular, red, blue and green carpet (hideous, definitely), where the TV was settled upon, and a chair a few feet from it from where she watched. Behind the television was just about the only piece of furniture in the entire place that was actually appreciated. It was a simplistic closet for clothes (whereas the other was just full of various knickknacks like some weird star-striped flag and maple syrup), and it currently hung about two outfits, both of which were hers. She didn't even want to _know _where the old lady stowed her things, but she couldn't care less. For some reason, it was its simplicity that drew her to it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was the only relatively normal thing around her when her life was going to shit. A lifeline, of sorts.

She decided it was enough of that depressing state, and with the broom in hand, she proceeded to sweep along the carpet, which apparently was imported from some important nation of Britain. '_Tasteless nation, more like it_', she thought to herself, but then, it made sense. Tasteless grandmother plus tasteless nation equals throw-up baby carpet. She smiled to herself; well, that was one mystery solved.

However, it was not soon after her grumblings to yet another day of chores (you'd think by now that the damn house could keep itself clean for one fucking day; what, were there magical unicorns of dirt, too?) when she was interrupted by a bristling sound from outside. Broom frozen in hand, Hungary's grip on the object tightened as she listened closely to the noise. It was… different, _unnatural. _For all the time she had lived up here, it was only ever the wind or the birds, but this time, it sounded larger, more intense – more… human-like. Not only that, it seemed to come straight from out her window. She knew for all purposes that it wasn't her grandmother, as the old bat would call out for her hair if she ever wanted to ascend.

Oh, fucking hell, it might have been a Frenchie. Those people were notorious for stalking, and she could stake her life on it that it was one of those bloodthirsty ones that came out to rape women and stain them forever. '_Too bad for them_', she smirked to herself, treading lightly across the small room to grab a frying pan that was her signature weapon. Who needed swords and pepper spray when one had a frying pan?

Hungary situated herself right by her window, out from sight, waiting for some perverted-looking idiot to come falling in, probably half-naked in all his manly urges, ready to come rape her. Well, wait, it _could _be a totally innocent random who had happened across her tower, but honestly, what were the chances of that? She would sooner find a flying hamburger than one of those.

So, it was back to square one. A perverted, half-dressed Frenchie. Just the thought of smacking him senseless with her beloved weapon brought a smirk of delight on her face.

This would be fun.

The rustling outside subsided for a few moments, and she was half-tempted to peek out of her window, but she knew that if she did that, that was _exactly _what the Frenchie would want. He'd grab her all cool-like and whisk her away to some secluded spot in the wood and rape her. Repeatedly, where no one but the birds and rabbits would hear the humping sounds. No way was she falling for that shit. She was the master of looking out for cliché, after all.

Just when she thought the other person outside – whoever it was – had finally left her alone, or maybe, in a dash of hope, fallen all the way down the tower and would never be seen or heard from again, the supernatural sounds resumed their frantic pace from outside her window. Although panic was setting into her mind at this point, a more pressing matter invaded her thoughts. From how close it sounded, whoever it was had managed to climb at least half of the way up. With this, she had to absolutely ask herself: how the hell did he manage to do something like that? He wasn't going to be some sort of Superman like she had thought, was he?

Well, she would find out soon enough.

The leaves that were situated outside her window flew off into the breeze, as well as from the force of the human – or monster, really – that was emerging. Hungary had to tighten her grasp on the handle of the frying pan, her fingers almost feeling numb, as two hands gripped the edges of her window sill, reddening as they hoisted whoever owned them up. She leaned further into the darkness, eyes widening and nerves on the edge as she calmly surveyed – or attempted to – the culprit who had trespassed into her home.

There was a groan of complaint from the male (she was at least glad to know it was a human), before two boots clacked simultaneously on the hardwood floor, mud pooling around them. She felt a twitch in her eye; the bastard was going to pay for dirtying up the place she had just finished up cleaning… maybe with his face, even. She could only see the bare of his back, illuminated by the sunlight outside. From where she stood, he looked to be dressed in black and blue; blue overcoat with black pants and boots. His hair matched the hue of his jeans, and an unnatural curl was erected by the front of his head. A metallic piece hung around his ear, leaving her to think that he was wearing glasses.

The figure stood still for a few seconds, his head turning about as he surveyed his surroundings. She hadn't noticed it before until he relaxed, but his muscles were undeniably tensed. He stepped forward, still not spotting her from behind her little corner, approaching the middle of the room, towards the television, which she had just switched off a few moments ago.

And then he spotted it at the same time she did.

On the table top was undeniably, her undergarment, frilly and pink (she was going to kill her grandmother for buying her such an embarrassing show of lingerie), and due to its neon colour, it had attracted the male's attention. He trod on over to it, petite fingers befitting of a musician reaching out to it, and he surveyed it closely… before chuckling and muttering in a low voice, "Now, what sort of pretty maiden would leave this lying around?"

Well, hell, that was enough.

Creeping up from behind him, Hungary poised herself, lifting up the frying pan, and smacking it towards the back of the man's head in all her feminine rage. With a satisfied smirk, she watched as he collapsed face-down in front of her, dropping the embarrassing thing in front of his face.

She tiptoed forward, frying pan still held up in case he somehow had an unbelievably hard head and was still somehow conscious. Prodding his face with her foot, she angled it in a way that she could at least see his expression… and froze. Thoughts of the pukingly sweet fairy tale Rapunzel flashed into her mind.

No. _No. _

He was drop-dead _gorgeous._

Oh, hell naw.

* * *

><p>... <em>Man, I'm not even sure where this came from. Blame the word "frying pan" (because it really is Hungary's weapon in the animanga) and listening to I Won't Say it from Hercules. This is meant to be a one-shot, but if there are enough reviews, I might continue. xD Might, since I just had a burst of muse for this one.<em>

_Bet you can't guess who the man is, haha. Or the movie it was based on, lol. Any ways, here ya go! A bit of randomness and my first fic without Canada. Have fun!~_


	2. Chapter 2

Mouth agape in the sheer gorgeousness of the male's face, Hungary stared at the unconscious form of the male, eyes bugged out like a praying mantis on steroids after having seen a lusciously fat-looking insect that was stupid enough to come trampling into its abode. Of course she hadn't seen a glimpse of it beforehand, as she was only looking at him from the back, but right here now, as he lay by her foot out cold, his glasses crooked from the sheer force of the blow, she couldn't help but colour slightly at his smooth, pallid skin that was remarkably unblemished, as though there was not one day he'd had acne in his _entire _life. His eyes, though closed, were spaced evenly enough, half-hidden under strands of creamy black hair that arranged themselves messily around his face. As she had seen before, there was a random tuft of hair that stuck up like a cowlick, curling upon itself, and she had the strangest urge to pluck it off. His face was the strangest combination of masculine – well, no _duh, _genius – and feminine in the way it looked so soft and petite, something that could be easily tampered with, its fragility obstinately obvious. His lips were a luscious red too, that perfect shade of crimson that was so highly desirable that she, too, slowly felt as though she could just reach out and press hers gently against…

She froze, eyes still bugged open. No, oh hell no, she was _not _just thinking that. Fuck was she going to give in to human desires like that. Oh, right, right, that was just _exactly _what the god of fairy tales out there was expecting her to do! Fawn all over Mr. Not-So-Prince over here, flirt with him like some incessant bitch who couldn't get anywhere unless she had hitched herself up with some sort of well-doing gentleman, then get proposed to, get married, have kids named Platinum, Diamond, and Pearl (okay, _what the hell _she had just drunk last night, she was definitely _not _going to ever again) and live happily ever after, blah, blah.

Right, because that was _exactly _what they would want her to do. No damn way. Hell could fucking freeze over before she went all giggly and bubbly over _this _douche. Huffing stubbornly to herself, she decided with a vengeance that no, no way was she ever going to fall for him all stupid-like, and there was an even _smaller _chance of her marrying him. She'd sooner kick him in the balls than allow him to invade her personal space and knock her up with a baby that "had her mother's eyes and her father's looks!" She gagged entirely; no, no way was that going to happen.

Still, that left the matter of what to do with the body. Hungary stared – no, _glared _– at his unconscious form, her face seething with what looked to be pure annoyance at the unexpected – and no doubt, unwanted – entry to her home. Crossing her arms, frying pan still held adamantly in one hand, she contemplated on just wrapping him up in her shit ton of hair, then dropping him outside the tower _where he belonged_. An unconscious voice at the back of her head nagged, '_Well, that's not very nice._' to which she sarcastically rebutted with, '_Whoever said I _wanted _to be nice?_'But really, now that she thought about it, she could at least spare _some _sort of decency (way to go, one point for her, about a hundred for indecency!) and not drop him off what was possibly the saddest excuse for architecture around here. On the bright side, really, he didn't seem to be a Frenchie, since those people were often characterized with their blonde hair and perverted tendencies. Oh, well, maybe she shouldn't rule out that latter criteria, seeing as how he _had _gone after her lingerie that was sitting out there in the open, no disregard for the possible _embarrassment _the owner would have to go through. Speaking of which, where was that fucking thing anyways?

Leaning away from the unconscious body for a few moments, Hungary stomped her way on over to the incriminating evidence that barely caressed the man's hair. With a disgusted sigh, effeminate fingers reached out and twirled itself around the back hook of the bra, wincing slightly as its pinkness once again blinded and shamed her sense of modesty. It took a few choice swears and more nagging from her conscience to prevent her from just shoving the damn thing out of her window (oh, well now wasn't that _always _the best solution for everything and anything?) and letting it fly wherever it may go! She muttered to herself; her "grandmother" was a damn stingy miser, and if anything, she had bought her, what, about a max of five pieces of lingerie? When that woman came back, she would definitely give her a piece of her mind…

Slapping herself mentally from the oh-so-interesting topic of lingerie, she turned back to the unconscious form that breathed evenly behind her. Biting her lip until it threatened to rupture, the female found that it was really quite… _difficult _to stop herself from softening up at his angelic face, something that earned her a mental slap to the behind. She shook her head profusely; no, she really had to concentrate on what to do now. If that woman came back and saw a half-dead body sprawled on her floor, even Hungary couldn't tell how she would react. Oh, oh, maybe she'd have a damn heart attack, die, and finally leave her free to get the _fuck _out of the tower and actually _get a damn life_.

But no. With her luck? That was highly, highly unlikely, as unlikely as the the chances of having a random guy scale up her tower like in one of those fairy tales and swoop her off her fe-… Oh.

Clicking her tongue in exasperation, annoyed with her ridiculously repetitive and limited choice of scenarios, the female raised up both of her hands, bunching up her lengthy hair in a bunch, expertly weaving it in a manner so as to completely surround the male's body. She wrapped it mostly around his torso and upper body, careful not to touch the _icky thing that would definitely give her cooties and infect her with a sense of cliché and stupid_. Using that as leverage, she groaned in slight effort (holy cow, what was he, a startling ninety pounds? hell, she probably weighed more than him, in any case) as his body rose up through the support of hundreds and thousands of brown locks. She dragged his body forward a few meters, settling it on the rocking chair with a grunt of irritation. The force of the slam caused the chair to teeter dangerously, and the man began to sway forward, threatening to fall over flat on his face… and back to where they basically were in the beginning.

Instinctively, she rushed up forward, two palms out as she pushed on him to stay upright, her hair twirling playfully behind her. A groan of effort escaped her lips. Freeing one of her hands, she again wrapped a large section of her hair around him, fastening him securely to the chair. When that was all done and over with, she landed with a thud on her behind, muttering to herself about how she now had to babysit someone else when she was already barely making ends meet with herself. So much for independence.

Now… she had to wait for him to wake up.

Waiting… waiting… If she smacked him again with her frying pan, would he wake up? The Jiminy Cricket in her mind spoke up once again, saying how that _really _wouldn't help and that if she wanted to be charged for murder on the account of blunt force trauma, she should just go right ahead and do that. Well, har-de-har.

Hungary realized that she must have snoozed off at some point, because that was the only reason for her being startled when there was a rustle of movement from her hair. Groaning and blinking groggily, her behind and back throbbing in protest at having been forced to sit up on the cold floor as she slept, the female rubbed her eyes, wondering what the source of the noise was. A sudden tug of her hair alerted her again, forcing her from the state of half-sleep half-awake (you know that time when you don't know if something is dream or not, or if you're still asleep or not? yeah, that's where she was right now) to one of complete consciousness. Leaping up (and earning some protests from aforementioned body parts), she clambered on over to the source of the… _disturbance_, which was still wrapped rather… affectionately, should she say, around brown waterfalls of hair.

The guy was waking up.

The female walked on over, still maintaining a maximum of about two feet away from him, frying pan decidedly raised on one hand should he try anything funny. Creeping over slowly, she watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. The male seemed to be slightly disoriented (ha, _slightly_?) and he shook his head as though to cast away the black spots that he no doubt would be seeing. A sound of pain escaped from his lips, which then struggled to form together and ask, "Wh-where… am I?"

Hungary smirked at his obvious discomfort. Holding the pan in one hand and slapping it against the palm of her other with a threatening posture, she asked, "**Well, good morning to you, **_**princess**_**.**"

"Where…" Blue-grey eyes swivelled around the room in a panic, a sort of hysteria evident just through these windows to the soul. The female could tell his pathetic attempt at an escape, as she could feel such subtle vibrations coming from the ropes of hair that were binding him (finally, a use for it!).

In a mock bow, she said, "**Welcome to my not-so-humble abode. And by the way, don't even **_**think **_**about escaping. There's nothing stronger than my hair.**"

The male squirmed uncomfortably, his eyes finally looking at whatever thing had trapped him. He opened his mouth to ask something, but closed it once more, looking as though he should have thought better than to do so. Hungary smirked; where was the so-called "valiant" prince? She could almost laugh out in consternation; where bravery was concerned, this one didn't have an _ounce _of that in him. Oh goodie, at least the cliché wasn't so cliché, after all. "I… I do apologize for intruding upon your home. I was not aware that someone could have possibly…"

"**Lived here? Yeah, damn right, I do.**"

"R-right, I do apologize, my lady. If there was ever anything that I could do to possibly-"

Laughter cut sharply across his words, and Hungary snorted in disbelief. "**What the **_**hell**_**? Did you just call me a "lady"? Are you from some Victorian era or something?**"

"No, I do not know what you mean. This is how I normally speak-"

"**So you talk like a prissy, stuck-up snob **_**all **_**the time? Oh, how **_**precious.**_** It's so cute that I might actually throw up. Wait a minute, I think I might actually do that!**"

The male appeared flustered, red colouring his cheeks. The female grinned to herself. Oh, was it coming? That burst of anger? _Finally_. She had purposely provoked him to see his reaction, to see if he would actually keep up with his precious little charade of honorifics. Honestly, was he from the Victorian era or something? Even she thought that that was pushing the prince stereotype a little too much, and she was glad that she'd finally cracked him.

Or, so she thought.

"Please, my lady, I do apologize. I feel as though you are rather irate at me for one reason or another, but I-"

"**Oh boy, **_**irate **_**doesn't even cut it**", she replied sarcastically, slightly annoyed at having been robbed the chance of seeing him explode.

"… but I do wish that we could start over, if you would graciously allow me to do so. Shall we… start with introductions?"

She said nothing, instead merely raising an eyebrow in a "are-you-for-real?" look on her face.

The man coughed. "R-right, well. My name is Austria Roderich Edelstein. May I know yours?"

"… **Wow, so you **_**are**_** for real.**" Hungary scoffed, holding back her laughter. With obvious carefulness, she advanced, each step set less callously than the last, as she held her frying pan in one hand more tightly, her fingers reddening from the obvious effort of gripping it too tightly. "**Fine, **_**princess**_**. I'm Hungary Elizaveta ****Héderváry.**" It was really odd when she introduced herself; normally, she would have only said "Hungary". Her full name was something she often kept in store for those she was completely secure around. Tch. There was no way she was at all secure with Mr. Prim over there, so it must have just been the surprise from his presence. Yes, of course that was it.

A smile broke out on his features. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hungary. If I may be so bold to ask, what is such a fine young woman such as yourself doin-… ow."

The male fell to the floor with a thud, the hair that kept him up no longer present. Behind him, Hungary was breathing heavily, her arms raised after having whacked him again on the back of the head, eyes wide in panic as her head swivelled back and forth.

She wasn't imagining it, was she?

Panting slightly now, forgetting about the other's presence entirely, she darted forward, tucking the frying pan underneath her arm as she made her way towards the open window (honestly, they should have at least more than one freaking window in here; it was so damn depressing), leaning against the wall, shyly edging over ear out as she listened to the elusive humming that she hoped was nothing more than her imagination (she scoffed mentally; what imagination? it was sooner that a meteor come crashing in right now than her suddenly sprouting her "creative" side). She closed her eyes, counting her breathing in her head. One, two, one, two. For a few short seconds, she heard nothing.

But then it came again. A melody that seemed to be a strange mix of "London Bridge" and "The Saints Go Marching In" (horrible, really, but she was far too panicked right now to really think about _that_) that was akin to only one equally tasteless individual. Her grandmother was coming back.

It shouldn't be mistaken that Hungary was afraid of her; no, if anything, she laughed at the stocky, old woman that had been forced (note, coerced) into becoming her caretaker. She also sometimes made fun of the woman behind her back (note, _behind her back_), especially when she went off on her little rants about nature and how beautiful it was and oh, how she wished she could take her out to see it sometime (what a fucking liar, one could just see it in her facial expression when she said this). But when the right strings were pulled, there was no doubt that the woman was one of those silent scary times, where her voice would go all quiet(er) and soft(er) and you knew that something was really wrong, and that was when you _had _to be scared. Hungary had only been at the receiving end of that particularly foul-looking stick once in her entire life (and even then, that had been a complete accident), and never again did she wish to be on it.

But she had a tiny (okay, make that _huge_) feeling that seeing a random guy knocked unconscious in the middle of the floor with two visible welts on his right forehead was not going to exactly scream "normal!", nor would that _exactly _sit well with the old woman. Well, you know, unless she had some sick sense of humour and found the fact that a grown man entering her "granddaughter's" house unsupervised funny.

She could… hope?

Neh, that was just imprudent.

The whistling noise from outside her window pitched up in decibel as the tuneless owner worked her way towards the tower. Hungary nibbled on her lip, eyes scanning the room in a panic as to where she could possibly stow the body. Why, oh _why, _hadn't she just thrown it out the window the first chance she had? Maybe then a pack of rabid wolves would have taken the body away, and she'd have nothing to worry about. Well, except for possible criminal charges and beheadings, but that was beside the point! It was much too late now, and she resisted the urge to cry out in frustration and smack something with her pan (too bad her only outlet was currently unconscious, she noted with disdain). Instead of panicking like a sitting duck just waiting to be screamed at, the female threw herself from her frozen stupor, launching herself towards the male's body and once again wrapping his corpse (yes, corpse, now wouldn't that have been so much more refreshing, the arrogant prick?) with her hair, and tugging him along towards the closet.

Luckily enough, her clothes, no matter how scarce, were long enough to at least cover him up, should the old bat bother to even check in there for who-knew-what-reason. It was a well-known fact that Hungary's femininity was virtually non-existent, and that sort of thing extended to her fashion sense, something that her grandmother would rat her out for every now and again.

With a groan of effort, Hungary threw the man in, hearing the satisfying thud as his body made contact with the side – and the bottom – of said closet, before she closed the creaking doors shut. Quickly, she rushed on over to the rocking chair and propped it up in such a way that it would _remain _closed. Even if it would have been funny in some sick-o universe, having a half-dead body fall out of her closet would not exactly have helped matters.

But hey, maybe it would give the old lady a heart attack.

Ugh, she really _should _stop dreaming.

As if on cue, it came, that high-pitched, sing-song (and painfully off-tune) voice, elevating all the way up to the tower. "Hungary, I'm home!~"

The female groaned, patting her face to wipe it off any excess sweat she might have provoked, and quickly running her fingers through her hair to prevent any knotting. Lord knew how much the old bat was slightly OCD for straight things… which really, could explain this damn straight tower without _any fucking doors_.

Once she was sure she looked presentable and not as though some random dude had just stumbled into her house, she took a deep breath and flipped on her face a shadow of a smile.

"**Coming, Grandmother!**"

Kill her. Now.

* * *

><p>... <em>Apply last line to myself, please. XD Oh, god, due to the reviews (that made me really happy, ily guys 3) that requested for a continuation, well, here it is! Just for you guys, I totally rewatched Tangled, so you better like it!  Haha, j/k. 3 I hope with this chapter, you had a glimpse of Austria's character, because... he gets more retarded later, lawl. Also, yes, this is from Tangled, and yes, it is Austria, haha._

_Thanks for reading, and please, PLEASE review and tell me if I should keep going or keep it with two chapters. xD Much appreciated! 3_


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